


The Hour

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Aged-Up Yuri Plisetsky, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - War, Angst, Dark, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Fire, M/M, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Royalty AU, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-13 07:36:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9113032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “We must go, Your Highness,” Celestino said quietly, his eyes rooted to the ground, breath ragged. The man’s face was disfigured by the flames, and Yuuri struggled not to avert his eyes.“Yes. Will you...take me to the onsen?” His shaky voice betrayed his composure, and his eyes stung again. He didn’t bother to wipe them this time, and now it was Celestino averting his gaze. He nodded, hand on Yuuri's shoulder again, and with his other pushed the crumbling remains of the castle door open.The world beyond mimicked the ashes they had only just left behind.The night was quiet again.***Or: the royalty/fantasy/magic AU that nobody asked for but y'all are getting anyway.





	1. Chapter 1

It was a quiet night, until it wasn't. 

 

Dinner had not been an easy affair. His mother and father were seated at the table heads, his sister seated directly across from him. They were eating katsudon to celebrate the occasion – his most unhappy birthday. Servants fretted to and fro around them, trying without success to keep the airs of normalcy even as the usually lively table of royals were lapsed into tense, thick silence.

 

His father was looking at him with exasperation. "He's a good man, Yuuri," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose like he always did when frustrated. "It's a solid match. You know it would be unwise to break it." 

Yuuri rolled his eyes. "Good man" and "solid match", though positives, were hardly what he needed to hear to feel enthused by his future husband. He certainly didn’t care for _wisdom_ in the decision, of all things.

 

"How romantic. We'll be a match for the story books _,"_  he grumbled.

 

He spotted one of the servants eyeing him warily as he spoke. She was new to castle and clearly the unused to the informal manner he used to address her King. Beloved as his family was in Ereh, it was always a shock for the new blood of castle attendants when they realized pleasantries were all but abandoned beyond the doors of the Great Entrance Hall.

 

Annoyed, Yuuri quirked an eyebrow at her questioningly. With an embarrassed blush and a small squeak, she snapped her gaze away and scurried out of the room.

 

Sighing, Yuuri rubbed his eyes and made a mental note to apologize to her later. He hadn't meant to take his frustrations out on the staff. It was just that he and father had been through the circles of this discussion  _so many times_ and it always led back to here; he was just so frustrated.

The engagement was not a surprise. Yuuri had always known he was betrothed to the Crown Prince of the neighboring kingdom Ordeyhr, Prince Otabek. They had been promised to each other before they were born, and he had grown up knowing that one day he would move to Ordeyhr to sit beside the eventual king as his Prince-Consort. But now that Otabek was coming of age and soon to ascend the throne, the prospect of the royal wedding was looming far too close for Yuuri's comfort. He had to think of a way out of what he was sure would be a disastrous marriage.

He had met Otabek a handful of times and the boy was simply...not what Yuuri had imagined. He let his mind wander to their last meeting, just a year ago. The Ordeyhri Prince and his attendants were visiting Ereh in an effort to acquaint the two betrothed. This turned out to be a more difficult task than expected: Prince Otabek was difficult to track down and, once found, was even more difficult to keep company. Yuuri had heard the rumors, of course, that Otabek had a consort at home whom he cherished, that Otabek had fought with his own family over his match with Yuuri. And, if Yuuri was truthful, he didn't mind that at all - it was certainly less pressure for him to be _in_ love with his husband. However, that did not mean Yuuri was ready to resign himself to a completely loveless marriage, platonic or otherwise. Otabek wouldn't give him the chance to be a friend, much less a lover. How could their union remain strong with no foundation between them?

 

"No thanks," was the terse reply when Yuuri had suggested to Otabek a walk together in the court gardens. Yuuri counted his blessings that the prince had even said the word “thanks” this time, but still couldn't stop the glare from creeping onto his face.  
  
"Well, isn't there _anything_ you would like to do together?" Yuuri huffed, annoyed. He had already offered a soak in the historic onsen in the outskirts just beyond the Ereh walls, a visit to the sparkling coastal beaches, a foray to the expansive castle library, a street show in the Capital market, even a sparring match in the meager Ereh troop training grounds (and he had been _sure_ that one would have worked), but Otabek seemed set on spending as little time with his fiancé as possible.  
  
"I have no interest." The annoyance Prince Otabek was feeling was pronounced, and final.

Yuuri had been hurt by that. Seeing no way to respond, he walked away with what dignity he had left and avoided spending any time alone with Otabek for the remainder of the visit. Sometimes he thought he saw regret in the young prince’s eyes, but as quickly as it came it was replaced with the standard Ordeyhri gaze of steel.

  
_I can't believe I have to look forward to a life with_ him _as my partner_ , Yuuri mused, returning his attention to his awkward birthday dinner and picking at his food absently. Perhaps he was too accustomed to life here at Ereh, surrounded as he was by a house that emphasized the need for companionship and love. The House of Katsuki was cherished their subjects and their subjects were cherished in turn. It was a storybook sort of kingdom; Yuuri conceded that he was a tad spoiled by it.  
  
The Crown Family of Ordeyhr had a very different reputation amongst its citizens. The ruling family commanded respect with action, not with compassion. Prince Otabek was typical of an Ordeyhri ruler: private, cold, and calculating. Ordeyhri was known for its powerful military; Prince Otabek had all the makings of a suitable and ideal ruler of the military kingdom. Yuuri's doubts were as to whether they would make him a suitable husband.

Still, the match was a strategic one for both kingdoms. With the threat of war between the kingdoms looming ever closer, a marriage alliance between their two kingdoms would be a welcome advantage. If they were to go to war, Ereh desperately needed Ordeyhr's militia and numbers, and Ordeyhr needed the skilled and dedicated healers Ereh was known for. A union between the nations could ensure their survival in the tumultuous days to come. Yuuri did want to help his kingdom, but did his own life and freedom have to be the price? If only the Ordeyhri prince wasn't so  _insufferable..._

 

He was jerked from his musings when his mother gently laid her palm on his hand. She gave him a compassionate smile, and he felt his tension ease just slightly as he looked at her.

 

"You know your father and I were arranged, dear,"she said smiling, with all the promises of love and happiness implicit in the statement. He knew this, too, and forever marveled at the love his parents shared given the circumstances. Toshiya and Hiroko Katsuki had a love story for the ages - betrothed at birth, but loving each other so deeply even since childhood. Growing up, Yuuri wanted nothing more than a love like that - a fated, beautiful, star-crossed love.

 

He wondered what the kingdom would have been like if his parents had married as strangers. What if one of them had had a lover already? What if there had been no spark? He didn't see how Ereh could possibly become the utopia that it was without it. 

 

Yuuri bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from letting out an exasperated sigh. He settled for indulging his mother a gentle smile before returning his attention to his plate.

 

An awkward silence filled the room, the only sounds coming from the rustled clothing of the servants as they bustled about, his father's deliberate and agonizingly open-mouthed chewing, and the scrape of silverware and plate as they ate their way through the pregnant quiet.

 

Yuuri allowed his eyes to snake toward his sister's face, but Mari's gaze rooted to the plate in front of her. She always did know when it was worth it to engage, and it seems she deemed Yuuri's cause a losing battle. As the eldest sibling, Mari was the heir to the kingdom and was mercifully free from the trivialities of political marriage for the time being. Even if the time did come, she would be expected to stay in Ereh, a luxury Yuuri was denied as the younger sibling. She had no consolations to offer because she couldn't understand, and Yuuri found himself appreciating his sister's honest abstinence from a conversation about which she had no part.

 

"You have to say something, Yuuri,"his father demanded.

 

“I don’t, actually.”

 

"You have to acknowledge the the engagement."

 

"I acknowledge that I am done with this conversation."

 

And the silence pressed on, for a while.

 

 

 When the night stopped being quiet, they didn't realize it at first. It happened subtly, just a distant whiff, a barely-there mist, a near-silent hiss. He heard his sister sniff a few times, but dismissed it as a nervous tick. They were full of those that night, tense as the atmosphere was. When his eyes began to sting, he realized it wasn't with tears - his eyes were  _stinging_. He wrenched his eyes shut. He heard his mother whine, felt his father abruptly stand from the table, calling to a servant urgently to ask what was going on, but he couldn't see -  _he couldn't see, oh god, he couldn't see._  

 

Then they smelled it. It was a burning, rotting smell, and it filled the room all at once. If he could see, he was sure the room was filled by now with the clouded smoke. The hissing grew louder, he heard servants yelling, the guards barking orders, his father drilling someone for answers. He clambered to his feet, reaching out blindly to grab for someone, anyone, but his hands met only air.

 

" _Your Majesties,"_ heheard someone yell frantically - was it over there? He wasn't sure. He heard rapid footsteps pounding against the wood floors, people running in all directions, a commotion in the kitchens - something shattering?  
  
He was moving; he didn't know where, but he had to  _move_ , didn't he? Away from the danger, away from the noise. He kept one arm over his eyes, the other stretched out before him to brace for potential impact, inching away from the chaos, praying not to be seen but hoping to be found.

 

Then he heard the screams. " _Oh god, oh god!"_ he heard the panicked shriek behind him. Was that Mari? A servant? Both? He couldn't be sure. Everyone was yelling, or crying, or screaming, or gasping for breath. Why did the hall sound so full of people all of a sudden? Where the hell was his family?

 

"Mother, father! Mari!"he called out, but his cries were drowned in the sounds of panicked chaos surrounding them.

 

He felt strong arms grasp his shoulders and he gasped, trying pull himself away until he heard recognized the voice of Celestino Cialdini, the Captain of the Guard. He felt his pounding heart settle just a little at his presence – Celestino would keep them safe, right?

 

"Your Majesty, _please,"_ he said, urgently, dragging him by his elbow toward what he guessed was the door. He felt a cloth being thrown over him, a hood over his head- a cloak? "We must leave at once; we need to get you out of here."

 

“My parents– _"_  he started, but he stopped because then he felt it.

 

He felt the heat. 

 

He sensed it coming from behind him. He twisted himself around, ignoring the Captain's protests, and forced his burning eyes to open. It was blurry, it stung, but he could see. He wished he hadn't.

  
  
He saw the green flames first, recognizing the shape of runes drawn into the ground even through the visual haze. Dragonfire - it was a complex concoction, an even more complicated spell, and it was _everywhere._  On walls, floors, doors - _someone had planned this,_ he realized. No one in Ereh knew how to do this - they were _healers_. Who could have done this? 

 

Then he saw soldiers - some were Erehan, but most weren't - brandishing swords, chasing after the fleeing servants, slaughtering those they came across not burning, ending the misery out of the people that were, all of them covered in blood and dust and soot. He saw a foreign soldier not far from him, and he took a moment to examine the crest on his shield – teal, a gold bird of prey beneath a sun – _oh, Ordeyhri crests_. He felt his heart constrict, and he felt his legs weakening beneath him. Celestino held him up, tried to move him toward the door again.

 

 _How could this be happening_.

  
  
And then he saw them, and he rooted himself to the spot. His family was still near the dining table he had stumbled away from moments ago, a circular rune of fire surrounding them and trapping them. They were huddled together, sobs and whispers, and Yuuri yearned to be there, too.

 

As if reading his mind, Celestino’s grip on his arm tightened – Yuuri couldn't reach them.

 

" _Mama!"_ he called, once more, desperately.

 

"Yuuri, _Yuuri_ ", she cried as she heard him, "Oh my sweet boy, please run, please run."

 

"Go to the onsen, Yuuri," his father called, "Find Minako, she'll protect you." How could he sound so calm?

 

Celestino tried to pull Yuuri away again, but he yanked his arm away, unable to avert his eyes. He was saying something to him in his ear, rapidly, urgently, tugging him toward the door, but Yuuri couldn't hear. He wouldn’t move, _couldn’t_ move, and he could sense Celestino’s desperate frustration. Yuuri’s eyes stayed fixed on his family, searing them to memory while he could.  
  
" _I'm so sorry,"_ he said, knowing his family couldn't hear the words but needing them said all the same.

  
"Yuuri _,"_ his father called, meeting Yuuri’s gaze gaze finally. Could his father hear him? He saw relief flash on his father's face as noticed Celestino by his side. "Yuuri _,_ listen _, we_ _-"_

 _  
_ For a moment, the entire world was green. The force of the blast knocked Yuuri backward, and felt his back slam against the wall nearest the door. He heard the anguished cry from the captain beside him, noticing in his peripheral the man clutching his face in pain. Vaguely, Yuuri realized that he was in pain, too, felt the sensation of pins and needles in his arm. Was he burning? No, he supposed he had already burned now. He could smell it; he could see it. He stopped feeling it soon enough.

 

Yuuri looked up, and watched the aftermath of the blast consume the world as he knew it. Everything was burning away before his eyes – his family, his friends, his home, his people, his invaders. No one was screaming anymore. The green flames held no bias - it had claimed everyone, friend and foe. All but the two crumpled figured hunched over near the charred remains of a door.

 

 

As quickly as they had come, the flames vanished. _Dragonfire, dragonfire, oh so wild, comes in a blast and then goes mild_ , he recited in his head, biting back a bitter laugh. His lessons taught him enough to recognize tragedy with a trite song but with nothing to prevent it. Hot tears stained his cheeks, blurring his already hazy vision, but Yuuri couldn't move. Erehan were healers, but even Yuuri knew there was no cure for this, no principles to apply, no lessons to learn. Ereh was a utopia, and now it was nothing;  it was tragic and senselessand irreversible, but it was final.

 

Yuuri did not know how long they sat there, gazing at the crumbled world around them. He may have lost consciousness at some point, he couldn’t be sure. He wondered if the invaders knew their lives were fated as well. He wondered if there was anything they could have done. He wondered if this was his fault, for resisting the engagement, or maybe for trying to make it work to begin with. He wondered if he could he stay for an eternity, rotting alongside these ruins, until death claimed him, too? He thought that might be preferable to living, then.

 

He felt Celestino's heavy hands rest on his shoulders, felt the slight squeeze, and he was hauled to his feet.

 

“We must go, Your Highness,” Celestino said quietly, his eyes rooted to the ground, breath ragged. The man’s face was disfigured by the flames, and Yuuri struggled not to avert his eyes.

 

Yuuri knew it was time to leave.

 

He looked once more around at the ruins of his home, his breath hitched. He found no comfort in it – this crumbling nightmare was not the Ereh he knew and loved. He screwed his eyes shut, shaking the image out of his head, and inhaled deeply. He wiped the tears from his eyes, and looked at his guard again with what he hoped was resolve.

 

“Yes. Will you...take me to the onsen?” His shaky voice betrayed his composure, and his eyes stung again. He didn’t bother to wipe them this time, and now it was Celestino averting his gaze. He nodded, hand on Yuuri's shoulder again, and with his other pushed the crumbling remains of the castle door open. 

 

The world beyond mimicked the ashes they had only just left behind.

   
The night was quiet again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! Thank you all so much for your comments on my last chapter; this is the first fic I've posted here and I'm touched at the response! Here's to a great new year!

“Ereh has fallen.”

 

Yuri shifted his position on the bed to better view his lover’s face. Otabek stood framed by the arch of the bedroom door, back rigid, eyes shadowed from a sleepless night and fixed on the floor: a portrait of a tortured man. _He looks awful_ , Yuri thought, eyeing the uncombed hair and rumpled clothes from yesterday.

 

“I see. And the Katsukis?”

 

He kept his robes loose about him as he crossed the room, snaking his pale arms around the prince’s waist. He tilted his head up to better look into too-tired eyes, but found them squeezed shut.

 

“Gone,” he whispered.

 

Yuri cupped the sides of Otabek’s face, earning him a shaky sigh as the prince’s reserve crumbled. He melted into the embrace, wrapping his arms about Yuri’s lithe body like a vine. Burrowing his face in the pale crook of neck, Yuri’s golden hair curtaining his face, Otabek body began to shake with quiet sobs. _He has to get used to this_ , Yuri thought, rocking the distraught man back and forth with soothing whispers and hushes.

 

Yuri had known Otabek would not handle this well. He was a good man, a _just_ man, but he was not suited for the political intricacies demanded of a king. Otabek was a brilliant tactician, an inspiring military general, but he had yet to see that the rules of the battlefield did not translate to the rules of high court. A man with a broadsword has little power in battles of poison and words.

 

The Katsuki alliance was a solid military match, certainly, and Yuri understood the reasoning behind the Altin King’s arrangement. An army needed healers – why would the best army not also have the best healers? But the nature of war had changed – swords and healing spells were no longer the impetus of battle. Alliances, arrangements, promises, collateral, blackmail – _that_ was the new power, the _real_ power. The Katsuki and Altin Houses were old-fashioned, and old fashioned just wouldn’t do in the new world.

 

Yuri thought back to when he’d met the young prince of Ereh last year when he’d traveled with the Altin prince on his engagement meeting. They’d thought to acquaint the two betrothed, and Yuri remembered with amusement how grumpy Otabek had been. _“I don’t want to know him,”_ he’d said, _“I don’t want to know anyone but you, Yura.”_

Yuri remembered the prince, Yuuri – the twinge of annoyance at the shared name had not yet abated. He was a gentle man, timid, kind, with compassionate eyes. A decent healer, he recalled, remembering an accident in the castle kitchen and the swiftness of the prince’s action. Magic had all but disappeared these days, but the people Ereh had maintained healing magic. Yuri had looked in wonder as the Erehan prince’s hands glowed with a soft golden light, running it over the cook’s burns, all gentle smiles and soothing words, and the skin became pale and smooth once again. It was a beautiful, restorative skill that the people of Ereh alone had, and the Prince Yuuri was an expert at it.

 

And that was exactly the problem. Yuuri was a man of restoration, not a man of fight. If the man had only had some _fire,_ maybe the match would have worked. It was clear Yuuri did not want the engagement either, but he seemed all but resigned to it. Yuri would bet any amount of coin that the Katsuki boy had offered no word of protest to his father; he was just so goddamn _mild_. He would never hold up in court, and he certainly wouldn’t hold up in war.

 

 _This man is going to get Beka killed,_ Yuri had thought then. And so, something had to be done, because Otabek was _not_ allowed to die, not while Yuri still lived and breathed. The two kings would never allow the engagement to be broken while the nations were amicable, Yuri knew, and so it became a matter of whispered words: a game Yuri was an _expert_ at.

 

He’d consulted with Maester Yakov and Lady Lillia, of course, and they had both agreed with him about the disastrous nature of the match. Yakov and Lillia collaborated to raise Yuri to be calculating in a way no royal could be – of course they alone could see the truth that their king could not. And so together they planted seeds.

 

 _I hear Prince Yuuri doesn’t want the engagement_ , servants whispered. _He barely spoke to Prince Otabek during their last visit._

 

 _I’ve heard Prince Yuuri has become quite friendly with Princess Sara of Phorajuay_ , a councilmember gossiped. _Even Prince Michele seems to approving the friendship._

_Celestino Cialdini was seen traveling recently,_ a soldier reported. _We believe he was seeking new recruits from King Jean-Jacques of Nestor._

 

 _One of our caravans was ambushed, Your Highness_ , a Ordeyhri commoner had sobbed in court. _Right on the main road to Ereh. They took everything, ser, they called us scum, and they set the caravan cart on fire._

_Ereh scouts were spotted outside of the castle walls, Your Majesty._

Whispers were all it took, really, and it had worked. That final whisper turned into a battlecry, and the Altin King was beside himself with betrayal. Yakov had appeared then, just on time, and suggested dragonfire, offering his small team of trusted apothecaries to prepare the complicated concoction and, well, the rest is ashes and history. Yuri was surprised the Ordeyhri King chose to destroy all of Ereh instead of just the family, but the Altins were men of passion and military tactics. It was not Yuri’s place to offer advice, but he tried to convince Otabek.

 

 _“We should take Ereh,”_ he’d whispered one night, his body pressed against Otabek’s, skin still flushed. _“Your old man isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. We should take it; play house for a bit, show the realm what we can do_ without _an alliance.”_

_“Not now, Yura,”_ he grunted, pulling away, and Yuri knew Otabek well enough to realize that meant _not ever_ , and so he did not bring it up again. Later, he watched quietly as the Altin King gave the idiotic order to burn Ereh to the ground, royals and commoners alike, and Yuri sighed at another opportunity wasted by the ignorant. _That’s why you need someone better, Beka,_ Yuri had thought. _I would never let you make a mistake like this._

 

Otabek protested the dragonfire; he knew it would mean the death of his men. He protested keeping the wage of war a secret from the Katsukis; he thought it was deceitful. He protested the invasion on his fiancé’s birthday; he’d never really believed his fiancé had betrayed him to begin with. He protested even the idea of the seizure of Ereh; he thought it was disrespectful.

 

Otabek’s honor was going to get him killed, and Yuri simply could not allow that.

 

“It’s a good thing, Beka,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the prince’s temple. “They deserved it. Now, come to bed.”

 

*

 

“Ereh has fallen,” he said grimly, seating himself opposite the silver-haired man and placing a filled tankard in front of him.

 

“So it is true,” the silver-haired man sighed, his finger tracing a circle around the rim of the cup. _I was_ _so close_ , he thought bitterly. “Did the barkeep tell you?”

 

“Ah, you know no one can resist the old Christophe Giacometti charm,” the other man said with a playful wiggle of his blonde eyebrows, but the joke felt sour and out of place in light of the revelation. "Not the barkeep, though - far too young for my tastes. The innkeeper, however, was _lovely_ , and an absolute font of information."

 

They fell quiet, each consumed with their thoughts, until Christophe cleared his throat for attention.

 

“I think,” he began, eyeing his friend warily as he collected his words. “I think you should lay low for a while, Victor. The innkeeper was asking a lot of questions, she seemed suspicious. People are afraid to even say the word Ereh these days; the Ordeyhri are on the hunt for surviving Erehan. It’s a dangerous time to be tangled with the place, ruins though they may be.”

 

Victor rolled his eyes. He knew what they were saying about Ereh and he believed absolutely none of it. “Chris, we both know those rumors are bullshit.” Chris whipped his head around, looking for listeners, but Victor continued. “I’ve _been_ there, Chris. I met them, the people, they are - _were,_ I guess – peaceful. But, beyond that, they were _smart._ Far too smart to declare war on _Ordeyhr_ , of all places, wouldn’t you think?”

 

“Would you _whisper,_ Victor, honestly. We’re in the den of the dragon here, now is _not_ the time for your righteous tirade.”

 

Victor knew his friend was right. They were right on the outskirts of the ruined kingdom, too far to see the effects of the blast but close enough that the sky was still thick with hazy green clouds. It would stay that way for a few months, he knew, and then perhaps he would go down and walk among the ruins of his shattered dream.

 

Victor’s mother had brought him to visit Ereh when he was five years old, as soon as he had started showing the signs. It had started small – midsummer but never breaking a sweat, deep winter but more than comfortable without a coat, snowmen that were perhaps _too_ intricate for a five year old. One day in mid-July, Victor’s mother discovered her son iceskating on a frozen pond with a shriek. Startled, the make-shift ice had evaporated back into water and Victor was submerged in a sudden splash.

 

 _You have a gift, my darling,_ his mother said as she ran a towel through his soaked hair. _A very, very rare gift_. _But you must not tell anyone,_ she mother warned. _They won’t understand. Promise you won’t tell?_ And promise he did.

 

 _They have the gift here, too, my sweet,_ his mother said, guiding him through winding streets of the Ereh capital. _You can show off all you like here._ Victor was mesmerized by the Erehan, the bent light around as though they controlled the stars, fixing what was broken, mending what was torn, all with the shine of gold and the tingle of warmth at their fingers.

 

He remembered the castle, his mother bowing before the King Toshiya as he laughed for her to stand, and the king smiling so warmly at him. He apologized for the absence of his wife, gushing that she had just given birth to their new little boy. _We think we will name him Yuuri,_ King Toshiya said to Victor. _What do you think?_ And Victor had smiled at the king and nodded his approval.

 

 _Will you show me what you can do_? Victor nodded again. He took a deep breath and cupped his hands around his mouth and blew out in low whistle. The ice danced from his mouth, twirling in a blue tornado of frost, and Victor waved his hands around delicately, commanding the ice to shapen itself.

 

When the king saw the sculpture that Victor crafted, an exact ice replica of the King himself, he laughed, his eyes bright, and clapped Victor on the shoulder. _Splendid! And to think, you’re completely self taught._ Victor had beamed with pride. _Your son is very talented, my lady. I wish we could help._

They only stayed for a few days. Victor cried as they left; he wanted stay in Ereh forever, delighting people with his sculptures, impressing the king with the kind eyes. _They only know healing magic here, darling,_ his mother said. _You have battle magic – they can’t help you control it here. We’ll figure something else out._

 

They never did find anyone else, though. Magic was, for the most part, dead in the whole realm. Victor dreamed of returning to Ereh, to live in the land where magic was alive. _And now it’s dead, too_ , Victor thought bitterly.

 

“Hey, you still in there, friend?”

 

Victor snapped out of his reverie, looking up at his friend’s kindly smile. “Yes, still here, I’m sorry. Got lost in my thoughts.”

 

“I understand; this must be hard for you.” Christophe was the only friend who knew about Victor’s gift, but Victor knew his confidante could never really comprehend his predicament. “We’ll figure something else out.”

 

“Yes, we certainly have to,” he mused, taking a sip from his tankard. “Blech! Drink’s gone warm, give it here.” He waved his hand subtly over the jugs, delighting in his friend’s face as the cup frosted with cool.

 

“It’s just not fair,” Chris whispered, transfixed. “How can you do it?”

 

“Beats me, mate, but it’s more trouble than its worth,” Victor sighed. “To Ereh?” He raised his tankard.

 

“To Ereh.”

 

They clinked their tankards and tipped their heads back, swallowing it all at once, and Victor let the burn of the ale warm his aching heart. He wasn’t sure where to go next, what to do next; his life was all of a sudden in freefall.

 

“Shall we go for a soak in the onsen?”

 

“Ah, yes, that sounds alright.”

 

“Minako! Oh Minako, goddess of the onsen, my handsome friend and I would like to go for a soak!” Christophe was smiling cheekily toward the slender innkeeper with long, chestnut hair.

 

The woman, Minako, rolled her eyes and pointed to a back door down a hallway. “I’ll have towels brought to you in a bit.” She glared at Christophe, but Victor amusedly noted a faint blush on her cheeks as she spoke. _“Don’t_ make a mess. And you should know I am old enough to be your mother.”

 

“Age is just number, my lady,” he purred, blowing a kiss her way as he dragged Victor toward the door.

 

*

 

“Yuuri, you’ll need to bring some towels out back for our guests.”

 

“Of course, Minako.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed it or if you have any questions or ideas. Your comments are such a huge inspiration for me so if you like this fic and want more, please say so!


	3. Chapter 3

“Yuuri, you’ll need to bring some towels out back for our guests.”

 

“Of course, Minako.”

 

“Pri – ah - _Yuuri_ – wait.” Minako silently cursed herself for her slip of tongue as she surveyed the boy’s glazed eyes with her own worried ones. She had reamed into Yuuko just yesterday for the exact same mishap. They couldn’t afford to make mistakes, _especially_ not when there were two mysterious, if harmless, guests on a quest for Ereh staying at the inn. And yet, there she was, setting the poorest of examples at the most inopportune of times.

 

Yuuri barely noticed the slip, too dazed to even feel afraid. He sounded so wooden and lifeless – so unlike Yuuri. He turned his blank eyes to hers, brow furrowed questioningly. “Whenever you’re ready to talk about what happened, I’m here. You know that right, right?”

 

Yuuri only hummed in response before disappearing to the backroom to retrieve the towels.

 

Minako had never felt so powerless – and that was saying a lot, considering she lived on the outskirts of what was once the largest magi haven in the realm. Minako always knew what to do, always had a plan. When she saw the green smoke rising above Ereh, she directed her family to stuff fabric in the crease of every window and door and to remain by the springs until they felt the inevitable quake of the blast. When Celestino and Yuuri had burst into her inn not long after, clothes singed and covered in ash and burns, she knew what to do – out back to the onsen again, where the healing springs would take care of the wounds; Yuuko would dress whatever the springs couldn’t take care of, Yuuri would heal them when he regained his strength, and Takeshi would guard the door. When the rumors of what happened began to spread, news of the Ordeyhri manhunt confirmed, she knew what to do – Yuuri would stay at the almost perpetually-empty inn with Minako and Yuuko to protect him, Celestino and Takeshi would go out together to gather intel.

 

But when Yuuri closed himself off to everyone and everything, barely speaking, Minako very suddenly had no idea what to do. The circumstances were unfathomable – how can you comfort someone in a situation like this? It was beyond her pedigree, and yet she was one of the people left that the prince could trust. She would protect him with all she had, even if it meant she died trying – but he needed to _be_ here, too, needed to be alive and contribute to whatever future had in store.

 

She watched the boy listlessly carry the bundle of towels out back to the onsen, averting his eyes from Yuuko’s when she turned to him as she swept. Yuuko turned to Minako, eyes resigned, and Minako didn’t really know what to say.

 

“He just needs time, honey,” Minako offered.

 

“I know. It’s just…it’s hard, seeing him life this. And without Takeshi here, I’m just…it’s a scary time,” Yuuko finished. Minako understood – a lifeless friend and a suddenly empty bed couldn’t be easy for her daughter. “But we’ll be alright. Yuuri needs us to be strong for him.”

 

“Yes, we all need to be strong for him,” Minako said, and she couldn’t bite back her proud smile. Her daughter had the true heart of an Erehan; compassionate and strong, just like her father.

 

Even still, Minako silently prayed that Celestino and Takeshi would come back soon. Practically, they needed to plan the next steps together, figure out where the prince was to go from here. Secluded as the little inn and onsen were, there was certainly a danger of discovery for Prince Yuuri by remaining so close to the site. And, strong as her daughter’s resolve was, she knew it would make Yuuko happier to have her husband back home with them.

 

On another level, she thought their presence could help Yuuri’s incredibly fragile mental state. Minako had hoped she and Yuuko would be able to offer some comfort for Yuuri, but the two of them together simply weren’t enough to bring Yuuri back down to earth. Perhaps if the guard and Takeshi returned and they were all together, it could breathe some spirit back into the young prince. But Minako wouldn’t push it – above all, Yuuri needed time and support, and he would have his fill of it as long as he stayed here with them.

 

“Yuuko, take care of the bar, I need a break.”

 

*

“You know, they say these springs have healing capabilities,” Chris said, face flushed from the heat. “It’s a shame we don’t have any wounds; I would have wanted to see for myself.”

 

“Christophe, if you don’t stop talking, I’ll give you one,” Victor teased, eyes closed. Much as he appreciated his companion, he found that Christophe’s voice had a remarkable ability to evaporate any and all airs of relaxation.

 

His friend chuckled but said no more, and they lapsed into an easy, dazed silence.

 

Victor opened his eyes when he heard the sliding wooden door to the onsen open. He watched as a slender man walked in slowly, eyes downcast, and laid a bundle of towels at the edge of the pool. The man didn’t look at them, didn’t acknowledge them – he moved like he was trying to will himself to invisibility. He backed away as quietly as he came, turning toward the door with neither word nor glance.

 

“Thanks for the towels, handsome,” Chris called out to the retreating the figure with a smirk.

 

The man paused – no, he _froze_ – and turned his eyes towards the men in the pool for the first time. His wide, chocolate eyes met Victor’s blue, and for a moment Victor couldn’t look away. He had never seen eyes so _sad_ , so broken. It seemed wrong, somehow, eyes like that set alongside the delicate features of his face.

 

Victor let his eyes trail down the man’s form, settling on the bare arm exposed from his robes. The flesh was pink and mottled, and the scars traveled up the arm and disappeared past the sleeve of the robe. Victor vaguely registered that they were burn scars, and he flushed when he realized he’d been staring. Embarrassed, he snapped his gaze back up to the man’s eyes to give him what he hoped was an apologetic smile, but the sadness he found was replaced by what Victor could only describe as complete and utter panic – this looked even _worse_ on the man’s face, and Victor felt a soft pang of guilt that he was the one put it there.

 

“I – ah – yes, thank you, for the towels,” Victor offered lamely. The man’s face paled as he rushed through the door and slammed it shut behind him.

 

“To think, _I’m_ the one who’s supposed to stop speaking,” Christophe laughed. “Look at what you’ve done; you scared him off!”

 

“I really will hurt you,” Victor grunted, embarrassed, and closed his eyes again. He would apologize later for his rudeness. For now, he tried to relax, but the image of those sad and panicked eyes couldn’t leave his mind.

 

*

 

“They were looking at me!”

 

Yuuko turned quickly toward Yuuri, startled at the prince’s sudden voice.

 

“They were _staring_ at me, at m-my scars,” Yuuri stuttered. He felt like the world was closing in. This couldn’t be happening again, not now, _not now_ , not again. “They know who I am –  I  _know_ they know!”

 

“Yuuri, come here, tell me what happened,” Yuuko said firmly, pulling Yuuri away from the doors and settling her hands on his shoulders. “Deep breaths, tell what you saw.”

 

Yuuri tried to breathe in, struggled, and settled for shaking his head back and forth.

 

“They didn’t seem suspicious to me, Yuuri. Minako talked to them, she said they were alright. They didn’t even know what to happened to…what happened.”

 

“I – I don’t…” Yuuri tried speak. He couldn’t breathe. Did his heart always beat so loud? Yuuri knew they were coming for him, knew it was a mistake to stay here because _of course_ they would look here, and now here they were _._ Flashes of green appeared in his memory, he saw it so clearly – the inn in green, Minako in green, Yuuko in green – green flames everywhere, all-consuming, burning the world with a dragon’s poisonous heat.

 

“Yuuri, you’re shaking, what – _Yuuri!”_

Yuuko was screaming at him. Did he smell smoke? Was that fire? Not the same fire, no – this smelled normal, just regular grey smoke. The flames weren’t green, but it was still fire and _oh gods, no more fire, please,_ he thought desperately. He curled in on himself, squeezing his eyes shut, but the fire seemed to roar stronger the more he willed away. Yuuko was still shouting, but it sounded like panic, not pain – that was good, that meant she was okay, she could get away. He registered the flames on him, but he didn’t notice any pain this time, couldn’t feel the now familiar sensation of needles in his arm.

 

_Why does the world always burn?_

 

*

  

Christophe Giacometti loved traveling with Victor. He was going to write a book one day – title pending – about the adventures of Victor Nikiforov, ice wizard extraordinaire – the _only_ ice wizard extraordinaire – and his wily adventures across the realm. The people would think it was a fantasy, but Christophe knew the truth – Victor was real, and the man simply attracted adventure wherever he went. He made a wonderful protagonist, too – charming, handsome, underdog upbringing, _cosmic_ power. And Christophe was the perfect sidekick, a never-ending well comedic relief and seduction.

 

Christophe had known Victor since they were both young boys, living in the slums of Nestor. He had always admired the boy, the carefree confidence with which he held himself, the way he could charm his way through life with practiced ease. He was delighted when their shared tendency toward mischief resulted in a fast friendship, and he remembered with fondness the havoc they wrought daily on the unfortunate marketplace vendors. After so many years, Victor was to Christophe a brother in all ways but blood, and Christophe was eternally honored that Victor felt the same.

 

Victor was twelve years old when he first shared his gift with Christophe, only ten at the time. _Promise me you won’t tell,_ he’d said, skating up to his stunned friend on the rim of the frozen pond in midsummer. _You’re the only one who knows now. It’s our secret, okay?_ And Christophe had felt so moved with that trust, so in awe of this amazing talent his friend and brother possessed, that he swore he would never tell another soul as long as he lived.

 

The problem was, Christophe wanted to tell _every_ soul. Victor’s magic was amazing, and it frustrated him to no end that they had to keep it a secret. _People are afraid of mages, Chris,_ Victor had told him for the dozenth time. _It will become a witchhunt, and I do_ not _take well to heat._

 

Never one to give up, with Victor’s bemused assent Christophe settled on the faux-fiction of his adventure novel. He would tell the world – they wouldn’t believe it, but they _would_ be told, they would love it, and that would have to do. Victor was not keen on the idea of being a storybook hero, but he allowed his friend this indulgence all the same. _We’d better make sure that book is worth writing, then,_ Victor had said, and they left their little flat in Nestor and set off in pursuit of high adventure. Always making their way toward Ereh, always making stops along the way, Christophe had felt alive and inspired each day of their journey – all because of Victor.

 

Christophe had taken to writing down a recap of his day each night, whether it was an exciting day or a relaxing one; there was always _something_ worth writing about. Today was joyously a very, _very_ exciting one and Christophe couldn’t wait to write it all down, to pour over his written memories later and craft it into the tallest of tales. Whistling an upbeat tune, Chris pulled the worn journal out of his battered knapsack, sat at the wobbly wooden desk in the corner of the room, and began to recount his night.

 

_~~On this quiet night beneath a green-hazed sky~~ _ _~~Once upon a time we~~ Today Victor met another mage._

_After a long journey, we were relaxing in the charming onsen at the outskirts of former Ereh. We weren't long before the woefully familiar smell of smoke filled the air - it was coming from inside the inn. Victor, man of action that he is, leapt from the springs without a thought (or a towel) and rushed inside. ~~Ah,~~ t ~~he way the drops of water gleamed from his chiseled chest like small pearls will stay with me for the rest of my life~~_

_We entered to find Yuuko, the young barkeep, sobbing as she tried to pour a bucket of water onto a complicated spiral-shaped ring of fire – I'm certain it was a rune, though it was difficult to make out because of the flames. In the center of the ring was a man, one of the inn attendants, and the man himself was on fire._

_I must write down the expression on Victor’s face as he took in what was happening – I have never seen him so raw, so genuine. At first, it was a bit of fear and a lot of determination, mouth set in firm line and eyes narrowed in concentration – fire is dangerous, but what power does it have over ice,_ especially _ice wielded by a master like him?_

__

_When Victor saw the source – a_ man, _a_ rune _– his eyes grew wide, his mouth dropped open in shock. Gods know how long its been, but Victor Nikiforov was_ intrigued.

_“What is going on?” He questioned the barkeep, Yuuko, but his eyes never left the burning man._

_“H-he was having a p-panic attack,” Yuuko stuttered, gazing around desperately, confused at Victor’s calm. “He – I – I don’t know what’s happening, please, just, just help him! I can tell, you can help him, can’t you?”_

_Victor inhaled sharply, and an ice-blue rune appeared at his feet, following beneath him as he moved. I could see the faint layer of frost encase Victor’s skin as he approached the figure. He walked through the flames as though they weren’t there at all, flame and frost meeting but not clashing, and knelt before the man._

_“Hey, it’s alright,” he’d breathed to him, placing his hands on either side of the figure’s face. “Look at me, it’s alright.”_

_The flames flickered a moment as the burning man placed his own hands over Victor’s, tilting his head up so that he could look Victor in the eyes._

_“You’re alright, you’re safe,” Victor said again, conviction clear in his voice, eyes boring into other man’s with intensity. “Do you understand?”_

_Slowly, the man nodded, and the flames vanished with a sudden crack. “There we go. You’re okay, nothing bad is going to happen to you,” Victor whispered._

_“You…” Yuuri breathed to Victor, but his words were lost on his lips as he slumped forward, consciousness giving way to exhaustion._

_Victor held him to his chest as he surveyed around him, eyebrows raising as he saw that the man and the inn were unharmed, the flames causing no damage. He appeared deep in thought, but his reverie was broken by the pound of footsteps from the sprinting innkeeper, Minako._

_“Yuuri, Yuuri!” Minako rushed over and pulled the sleeping mage – Yuuri – from Victor’s arms. “Shit, shit,_ shit, _is he okay? What happened? Hey, you, tell me he’s okay!” She was looking at Victor fiercely, as though daring him to say otherwise._

_“He will be fine,” Victor said simply, and both women seemed to release a collective breath. “He is likely exhausted; that was quite the spell. He needs rest.”_

_“He’s never done this before…,” Yuuko whispered. Minako sent the girl a sharp look - a warning, perhaps? - but the barkeep seemed not to notice as she stared at man cradled in Minako’s arms._

_“Yes, I figured as much.”_

_*_

 “You look happy,” Christophe said, shutting his book delicately as his friend returned to their room. “Ah, and I see you’ve found a robe, after all,” he murmured as he took in the thin green fabric wrapped around the tall form.

 

“Hm, didn’t catch that last part, but I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Christophe, that was _quite_ an ordeal,” Victor returned, but Christophe noticed that he sported a rarely-seen, wistful sort of smile on his face, eyes twinkling with a burning sort of excitement.

 

“What are you thinking, Nikiforov? You look like you’ve got a plan.”

 

Victor only hummed, a finger pressed to his lips in cheeky contemplation, before he turned with a grin.

 

“I do. I’m going to train him, of course!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading this far! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed; it motivates me like nothing else!


	4. Chapter 4

Otabek saved Yuri's life for the first time when they were both eight years old.

The harsh winds of the frigid Ordeyhri winter whipped through every street and alley like sharp knives. The streets were empty from both the cold and time of night; the few city guards forced on patrol were bundled in layers of fur, their breath misting in front of them.

"Colder than a witch's tits out here," a large, burly guard grumbled, burying his face into the ragged gray pelt wrapped around his torso. 

"Language, Josef," the other guard drawled, "We are guards of House Altin; you should be more excited about this opportunity! _Anything can happen,_ " the young rookie sang, “adventure could be just around the corner!”

The young guard either did not notice or pretended not to see Josef's rolling eyes. He was far too invested in his job for Josef's tastes and Josef once again lamented being assigned as his mentor.  _At least the gods have a sense of humor,_ he thought, grimacing at the fool next to him.

"Ah, piss off, Emil," Josef grumbled. "When you've been spent as many winters as I have walking through this shithole of a slum in midwinter, come back and I'll see what's become of your ‘ _exciting opportunities’_ as a patrol guard."

They lapsed into an uneasy silence, both daydreaming of the day when they would no longer be assigned to patrol duty together. They didn't notice the pair of calculating green eyes watching them from behind an empty marketplace stall, the starvation-thin body they belonged to following slowly and silently behind as they moved.

The guards stopped at the peak of an overpass; the view was wide and expansive. They could stay here for a bit to survey the stillness of the city. As they conversed stiffly, both purposely averting their eyes fro each other the green-eyed shadow smirked. This was good, this was  _perfect_ , they would distract themselves and they would never even know he was there. He crept closer, silent despite the violent shake of his freezing body, and he drew his dagger. Quietly, expertly, he cut the ties of coin purse at the younger guard's side, typing it rapidly to the bit of rope he used as a makeshift belt. Quickly he went to work on the larger guard's purse.

A few things went wrong.

First, the guard turned very suddenly to say something to Emil. Second, he stepped on the little thief's foot, who let out a yowl quite like a cat's. Third, the coin purse the thief had tied to his belt fell, the gold tokens falling out in a wave.

" _Shit!"_ The little thief yelled, scrambling away. He stumbled over the cobblestones, his bare legs almost numb from the cold, and he promptly fell flat on his face - fourth.  
  
Josef grabbed the thief by the blonde of his hair, clutching tightly to keep him from escaping as the boy struggled fiercely.

"Get the hell off of me, asshole!" The thief aimed a kick at him, missed, and Josef shoved the boy to his knees.

"Josef, it's just a kid, relax!"

"The little fairy thinks he can steal from me, eh?" Josef's face loomed in front of the boy; he faltered for a moment at the angry, steel like gaze returned by the otherwise delicate face. "You know what the punishment is for stealing from a guard, don't you,  _punk_?"

"My name is  _Yuri,_ and if you call me a fairy again I'll kick your fucking ass!" The boy hocked a spit at the guard's face, which earned him a sharp smack across the face.

"Josef! He's a  _child_. We – you _know_ standard punishments don't apply."

"You've got quite a mouth on you, little shit. It's a slow night, so might as well play this by the book, eh?" The boy struggled, trying to release the older man's hold, but the grip was like iron. "The king will be traveling for gods know how long, but let's give the  Prince Otabek a taste of doling the king's justice."  
  
"I don't know if that's such a good idea, Josef..." Emil said uncertainly. "The prince has a... _unique_ perspective, wouldn't you say?"  
  
"Just because the kid's got a stick up his ass doesn't mean he should be excused from his duties."

Emil frowned at the language, but he had nothing to protest about the logic. Neither of them liked dealing with the prince - he was impossible to read, very cold and stern for someone so young, his decisions sometimes incomprehensible -  but there was nothing else to be done.

 Yuri struggled all the way, but in no time at all, he was forcibly pushed into a kneel in the Reception Hall of the Ordeyhri royal castle, a dark-skinned boy his own age perched uncomfortably on a throne in front of him. 

Black onyx eyes held emerald green ones for a moment. "What are you staring at, asshole?" Yuri snarled, and Josef made to strike him again.

"Enough!" Josef snapped his eyes up, startled at the sudden address from the young prince. "Release him."

"Your Majesty," he replied, eyes cast downward as he backed away from the scrawny boy.

"Leave us," the prince commanded, voice softer this time as he continued the staring contest with the thief.

"But, Your Majesty –" Emil started, aghast at the lack of protocol.

"I won't say it again," the prince replied coolly, and the guards reluctantly left the room, confused but glad to be rid of the strange altercation even if it did mean they had to return to the cold.

"I don't need your help," Yuri barked, but hot tears were spilling down his cheeks; he furiously wiped them away.

"I know you don’t," he said, walking toward the pale boy in front of him before kneeling so their eyes were level.

He held out his hand, flushing slightly when the blonde made no move to shake it and instead eyed the hand suspiciously.

"Are you going to be my friend?"

And Yuri had blinked stupidly, confused, not quite following the odd prince's train of thought, but eventually found himself grasping the hand firmly in his own all the same.

___________________

 

No one quite knew  _what_ to do with Yuri when he moved into the castle. He was a poor orphan with a foul mouth and a wild temper but the prince  _insisted_ that he had to stay. Guards and castle-staff alike had cornered Yuri numerous times over the following months to figure out why he was here; each time Yuri had returned their questions with a string of expletives so complex it almost morphed into its own language. The truth was, Yuri was just as confused.

He certainly wasn't complaining. He'd gone from living alone on the grubby, frigid streets of the Ordeyhri slums to living in an actual castle, he waswell-fed, and he couldn't remember ever being so  _warm_ in his entire life. But Yuri was still suspicious - the prince had never elaborated on what being his "friend" entailed or why he wanted  _Yuri_ of all people to fill that role. Yuri hated the whispers that followed him wherever he went the judgement in the people's eyes as they measured his worth and value. The only place where the whispers and judgement ceased was when he was with Otabek, whose black-coal eyes never offered a negative emotion, and so Yuri took to hanging around him.

To the horror of all the castle staff, Otabek insisted that Yuri be present for all of his lessons, meals, and royal duties. Master Yakov would later recall to Yuri that he had never been so frustrated; the blonde brat just wouldn’t _listen,_ and the prince was so enamored with the boy that _he_ wouldn’t listen, and quite suddenly a year went by and Yakov wasn’t sure either boy had learned a damn thing. The boys were prone to disappearing for long stretches of time, hiding away in the nooks and crannies of the castle to avoid the prince’s duties, and all around Yuri very suddenly became the bane of the everyone’s existence.

Yuri knew everyone in the castle thought he was a bad influence, and he _relished_ it.

Two years after moving into the castle, their dance tutor Lady Lillia dragged Yuri into the throne room by his ear, each of them red-faced with anger and Lillia covered in a mysterious green sludge.

"Enough is enough, Your Majesty," Lillia huffed, indignant. "This  _cretin_ has no place in this castle – he has been nothing but trouble since the night you bring him here and it needs to  _stop._ Half the castle wants to retire because of him, the other half is thinking of ways to _kill him."_ Otabek looked at her sharply as she spoke, gazing at her narrowed eyes. The last part was said as though in jest, but anyone who knew Lady Lillia knew that she did _not_ jest. Otabek gave a curt nod, understanding the warning, and Yuri looked at her sidelong in confused, angry silence.

"Let me speak with him," Otabek replied, and Lillia excused herself with a nod before shoving Yuri forward toward the prince.

"Yuri," the prince started, looking uncertain as he collected his words. The stiff formality from his audience with Lillia melted away as the prince talked to his companion, changing to something more casual.  _Like he's talking to a friend,_ Yuri thought. "Do you...like it here?" It was a genuine question, a curiosity, and Yuri bit down the sarcastic retort rising from his lips – Otabek was the only truthful person here; he at least deserved truth in return.

"I don't know."

"I want you stay here," Otabek continued, eyeing the blonde to take in his response. Yuri kept his face composed. "I want you to stay here and be my friend, but you can't behave like this anymore. Not in court."

"Why?"

"It's...dangerous, you know?" Otabek replied, worry flashing across his face for a moment. "People here lie all the time; they do what they want, say what they want to make things happen. You heard what Lillia said: right now, they want you gone."

"So why not send me away?"

"Because you are honest," the prince said without hesitation. "I could see it in your eyes the night we met – you tell the truth, even when you're not speaking. It's in your eyes, it's in the way you carry yourself."

"But you want me to change?"

"No." His voice was soft now, eyes sad. "I want you to stay honest, but I want you to be safe." Yuri's heart ached; why the hell did he care so much about him?

"If you want to stay..." prince began, seeming to struggle either the words or the emotion behind them. He swallowed before starting again. "If you stay, you have to be careful out here. But I want you to always be honest with me."   
  
His eyes were pleading, expression hopeful, and all at once Yuri understood that Otabek was an _idiot_. He was too damn honest and too damn good, and he was the only person in this whole cesspool masquerading as a palace who had any shred of morality. Otabek was alone and he was too good to keep himself from getting killed.

Yuri knew he was nothing, was  _worth_ nothing, but Otabek...well, Otabek could be  _everything._ Otabek needed to be protected, and Yuri wanted to protect him – that could be his value, his purpose. Yuri would make sure he was around to protect Otabek for as long as he could. If that meant he would don the mask of court life himself, then so be it. He only needed to be alive and living in the castle. And so, Yuri made the decision to change. Not for them, but for  _him:_ the good, stupid, _wonderful_ boy in front of him, asking only for his friendship and honesty.

Yuri didn’t realize until much later that this was the second time Otabek saved Yuri’s life.

"I'll stay," he had said, and he smiled at Otabek as he stretched out his hand. Otabek seemed shocked at the expression for a moment – had he  _really_ never seen a genuine smile? – before eventually smiling back and shaking the boys hand.

Yuri knew he had a dark path ahead of him, knew he was about to sell himself for the protection of this boy, and he knew that boy would never really understand the depths Yuri was about to go to keep him safe. _It’s worth it_ , he thought as he took in the prince’s gentle smile. _Otabek is worth it._

___________________

 

"Yura," Otabek called softly. Yuri looked into the man's face, etched with concern, and realized that his own face had been lost in thought, a deep frown settled in. He scrambled to readjust his features before responding.

"I'm alright, don't worry about it," he said, averting his eyes. Otabek had always felt guilty about that conversation in the throne room all those years ago; Yuri really did not want to bring it up again.    
  
" _Yuri_ ," he said again. Otabek was looking at him with those  _eyes_ that saw straight through him as though he was made of glass. Yuri knew he was a lost cause – he was always a lost cause when it came to him. He smiled fondly at him, wondering how he got so lucky. Otabek never allowed Yuri to wallow in sad memories for long, always pulling him back, showing him light. He would give Otabek the world if he ever asked, and Yuri knew Otabek would give it right back to him.  
  
"I'm really okay, Beka," he said, softer this time. "I was just thinking...remembering."

"Those don't look like good memories," he returned, pulling the slender man's body over so that their chests were pressed against each other, encasing his arms around the other as though to shield him.

"Some weren't," Yuri sighed, relaxing into the embrace despite himself. He brought a hand up and laid it gently across Otabek's chest, feeling the heartbeat thump softly through his fingertips. Not for the first time, Yuri wished they could spend an eternity just like this – he and Otabek, wrapped around each other, safe and together, hearts beating in tandem with life and love.

"Then let's not think about them anymore," Otabek murmured, tracing a thumb along the pale cheekbone of Yuri's face. He kissed him, in a way only Otabek could kiss - equal parts strength and vulnerability, desperate to protect and desperate to be protected, and Yuri returned the emotions with as much vigor as he could muster. He tried to etch every movement with the feeling, tried to scream the words silently through this kiss,  _I love you, I love you, I will protect you forever, don't ever leave me._

 _"_ I love you," Otabek gasped, breaking away to come up for air.

"I know," Yuri smiled, because he did know, he always knew. He rested his head against Otabek's chest and closed his eyes, letting that steady heartbeat - his favorite lullaby - ease him into a blissful sleep.

  
  
___________________

 

"Your Majesty, Ser Celestino Cialdini is here to meet with you."

King Phichit eyes snapped up with a start. "Celestino Cialdini? Did I hear right?  _He's here_?" 

"Y-yes, Your Majesty, he is just outside. He said it was urgent that he speak with you."

"Send him in, send him in!" Phichit stood and began pacing – if Celestino was here, then,  _maybe_  the Katsukis...? He had believed all of his cousins perished in the attack, but why else would Celestino travel all this way if not to ask for help?

"King Phichit," Celestino said as he entered, the guard who ushered him in returning to his place at the throne’s side. Celestino gave a curt bow, his raven-haired companion mimicking the gesture, and Phichit gasped as he observed the grotesque scarring across the man's face; half his face was mottled in pink, leathery skin, one light green eye certainly blind now.

"Oh, Ciao Ciao, I am so glad to see you," the young king said, pressing the guard into a tight embrace. "When I heard the news I thought everyone had..."

"I am sorry I could not send word ahead, Your Majesty" Celestino said, pulling away. "I couldn't be sure my messages wouldn't be intercepted."

"Enough with the pleasantries, and of course, I completely understand, it was a wise decision," Phichit replied. "Do you need to rest, or...?" 

"No, of course not, we don't have much time. We need to talk now," Celestino said with a sigh. "Ah, I'm sorry, my manners, this is Takeshi Nishigori," he indicated his companion behind him who offered a cordial nod. "Takeshi travelled with me from the hot springs outside of Castle Ereh."

"I see," Phichit replied, eyes bright. "And what news?" 

"Prince Yuuri is alive, Phichit, he remained at the onsen as we travelled here."

"Gods above, that is - I'm so happy to hear - but wait, is he  _safe?"_ Phichit's mind was swimming - Yuuri was alive, but he was barely away from the site of the attack. Images of Ordeyhri soldiers invading the inn surged across his mind as he looked at Celestino questioningly.

 _"_ As safe as he can be," Celestino said grimly. "But you are right to be concerned. He is not well – ah, _mentally_ – so we did not think we should move him. But he should not stay long."

"Certainly not," Phichit replied, head spinning with potential plans and courses of action. "He is far too close to Ordeyhr. We will need to bring him here immediately, before they find out we are gathering troops."

A pause. "Troops? King Phichit, do you mean to go to war?"

"I…Ordeyhr has slaughtered my blood, my  _family_. H-how can my people trust me to protect them when I can't even protect my own flesh and blood?" Phichit cursed his shaking voice for betraying his composure.

"My family has dedicated itself to yours for many years,” Celestino said slowly. Phichit knew it was true; there was always mention of a Cialdini at the side of the Katsukis in any history book Phichit had read. Though Phichit only had Katsuki blood on his mother’s side, Celestino held the same amount of loyalty to Phichit as he did to Prince Yuuri. The affection was clear in Celestino’s eyes as he gazed at the young king.

“If it is war you want, Your Majesty, it would be my honor to maintain that tradition."

"Thank you," he said softly.   
  
Phichit was scared. He knew his kingdom had allies, carefully crafted diplomatic ties from when his father was still alive. He quickly went through the logistics of it: King JJ of Nestor was a strong ally with a military second only to the Ordeyhri themselves; the Crispinos of Phorajuay weren’t allied with him but they _were_ openly hostile to Ordeyhr and friendly with the Katsukis; King Seung-Gil of Waisaui would likely remain neutral but with some bribery may permit them to pass through his lands; Queen Mila of Tochluse didn’t have much of an army but they may at least be able to gather some volunteers and he knew she was loyal to the Crispinos; and of course there was his own modest collection of troops here in Nerinouph…

It was a good start. He just needed to make the decision. _Father wouldn't have hesitated_ , he thought.  _Father probably would have declared war already, even without Yuuri._  Phichit knew his people loved him, but he also knew they didn't trust him yet. He needed to prove to them that he could fill his father's shoes, be the ruler and protector they needed. The Katsukis had been the only family he had left, and now they were all gone except for Yuuri.   
  
He would fight for what little family he still had; he would prove himself worthy of his crown.

"Takeshi, yes? Celestino trusts you, and so I do as well. Return back to the onsen immediately, bring Prince Yuuri back here. Leo, Guang-Hong, go with him," he said, addressing the two kingsgaurds standing silently at either side of the throne. The guards' eyes went wide, startled at the sudden address, but they nodded their assent.  
  
"Protect Prince Yuuri as you would protect me," Phichit ordered as the three bid their leave.  
  
With a heavy sigh, Phichit turned to Celestino, observing the fiery gaze the older man held. Celestino was ready for war; he supposed he was, too.  
  
"Ciao Ciao, are you up for another long journey? I have some favors to call in."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter is so long! Got carried away a little with the backstory but I wanted to nudge the plot along, too. I don't love this chapter but I felt like it was necessary :/
> 
> More Victor and Yuuri next chapter for sure! (Finally getting back into Yuuri's POV!)
> 
> Please leave a comment if you enjoyed; it is my lifeblood! 
> 
> P.S. Because I know people will ask, Josef is NOT an OC, he was actually Chris' coach in the show but I don't think he ever talked? I just needed someone oldish and burly and he visually fit the bill. Sorry Josef, I'm sure you're a nicer guy than I made you out to be!
> 
> P.P.S. If the names of countries and stuff are confusing, let me know and I'll totally list everything out (and maybe elaborate on my frankly hilarious name-generating key)


	5. Chapter 5

Yuuri couldn’t sleep.

 

To be more accurate, Yuuri  _had_ slept, for three consecutive days and two and a half nights after unwittingly setting himself on fire. And then, halfway through that third night, Yuuri's body couldn't sleep anymore.

 

He lurched awake with a start, the flutter of panic in his heart as he got his bearings. Yuuri looked around him as his vision adjusted to the dark, taking in the spartan furnishings of the small room, the barely-there scent of sea salt in the air, the sliver of night sky barely visible in the cracked open window, moon and stars obscured by dark clouds of green… _Green?_

 

He closed his eyes again and struggled to control his breathing as the memories came back, striking him like vicious waves battering against a ship on a stormy sea.

 

Breathe in.  _His birthday, dinner, Prince Otabek, fighting with his parents._ Breathe out.

Breathe in.  _Smoke, chaos, golden birds of prey on teal, fire._ Breathe out.

Breathe in.  _The world shaking, pins and needs in his arm, the burning smell_ something awful  _filing his nostrils._ Breathe out.

 

Breathe in.  _Ashes, Celestino, the onsen._ Breathe out. 

Breathe in.  _Strangers. Panic. Fire. Fire outside of him. Fire_ inside  _of him. Fire everywhere._ Breathe in. Breathe  _in_. Breathe- _bre_  – Breathe out.

_A sudden chill._ Breathe in.  _Worried blue eyes, like ice._ Breathe out.

Yuuri opened his eyes. That was the last thing he remembered – the coolness enveloping him starting from where long, pale fingers were pressed against his cheeks and rippling throughout his feverish body, and then crystal blue eyes locking into his. “You’re alright, you’re safe,” the eyes seemed to whisper – or had the man actually said that?

 

Slightly calmer now, Yuuri pulled himself out of bed with a groan and stretched his aching bones. He had no idea what time it was, but he could sense from the stillness in the air that it was very, very late. That was good for his purposes – he wasn’t sure if he was ready to look Minako in the eye after almost setting her home on fire.

 

Yuuri didn’t want to be a battle mage. He liked being a healer and  _only_ a healer, borrowing energy from the world to bring restoration to what was broken, and then giving that energy back as it was due. He recalled the mantra from his lessons growing up: _borrow the mana, return back the magic,_ and he had always been happy to do so, to give it back. Healing mages did not possess magic the way battle mages did; their magic was a loan. For a healer, the  _world_ was magic and they the magic-users. Healers merely had the world’s permission to access those power beyond their own capabilities. Yuuri thought it was a beautiful, pure partnership between man and realm, an unspoken understanding between life and  _Life_. 

 

“The gift” wasn’t a partnership - it felt more like a curse to Yuuri. It was a lonely, destructive force that lived inside the mage, and Yuuri could feel its weight heavy in his chest, low embers simmering,  _aching_  to burst forth. The gift was selfish and sudden, dangerous, and Yuuri wondered if he would ever be strong enough to control it.

 

Yuuri stood and paced around the room, hoping the repetition could stamp out the guilty burning in his heart.  _Everyone here is in danger as long as I stay here,_ he thought,  _and there’s been enough death as it is._ Yuuri knew he had to leave soon – it was only a matter of time before his enemies came to sniff out any survivors, and that was presuming Yuuri didn't blow everyone up first. He contemplated leaving right then, when it would be easy and everyone was sleeping, but he knew Minako and Yuuko would be beside themselves with worry. After all they have done for him, they deserved better than that.

 

Suddenly sick of sitting in the dark, bare bedroom, Yuuri slid the door open and made his way into the main room. He would make himself some tea, wait for Minako and Yuuko to wake up, and then he would say goodbye. That was the responsible thing to do, even if it would break his heart to say goodbye to the last friendly faces he knew. _At least I’ll get to say goodbye,_ he thought, but stopped himself as flashes of his family fluttered in his memory. It had been long enough; he knew couldn’t wallow in sorrow any longer. He rounded the corner of the hallway, eager to calm his nerves with a warm drink, when he stopped.

 

Yuuri’s eyes locked with blue once again and he found himself rooted to the spot.

 

The first thing Yuuri noticed was that the man was beautiful. He had noticed this before, of course, when he had observed him soaking in the onsen, but it struck him all over again here. Silver hair, moonlight skin, chest barely visible in a loose-fitting olive robe, and those  _eyes_ – gemstone blue, entrancing, and Yuuri could have sworn they could see right through to the core of his soul. 

 

The second thing that Yuuri noticed was that he looked unreasonably thrilled to see him. His mouth had dropped open in shock when Yuuri walked out, eyes brightened til they seemed to sparkle, and the corners of his mouth tipped up to form a vaguely heart shaped grin as he abruptly stood and rushed over to Yuuri's side.

 

“You’re awake!”

 

Yuuri just blinked, too startled to speak.

 

“Do you...remember me? Remember what happened?”

 

Yuuri nodded. This was the man who had saved his life. Yuuri wasn’t sure he would ever forget it – the fire filling his vision, panic in his heart, and then the vision of silver-hair wading through the flames toward him, cooling him, dousing the fire with ice. Yuuri remembered distinctly feeling _safe_ for the first time since before Ereh fell, and then he had lost consciousness. He really should thank him.

 

“I know your name is Yuuri,” the man continued. “My name is Victor. You probably remember that I am an ice mage?”

 

Yuuri nodded again as he cleared his throat, willing himself to speak. “Yes. Thank you, for helping me...” His voice came out too soft, barely a hoarse whisper, and the latter half of the sentence became lost in his throat from the days of no use, but the man – Victor – smiled so brightly at the words that Yuuri knew he understood.

 

Yuuri had hardly enough time to blink before Victor launched himself at him excitedly, squeezing Yuuri in a tight, sudden hug. Yuuri’s cheek was pressed against the cool skinn of Victor's exposed chest. He struggled to extricate himself from the iron-like grip even as _safety_  whispered in his mind.

 

“And so he speaks! I was concerned; Minako and Yuuko said you weren’t talking. I suppose the cat returned your tongue?”

 

“The cat? What does that even – I’m sorry – c-could you – “

 

“You should know we’ve been checking on you daily. You sleep like the dead, I’ve never seen –“

 

“I-I don’t really – “

 

“I was very surprised, you know, all this time, a battle mage right outside of  – “

 

“Wait, V-Victor, I have to sn– “

 

“ _Aw, you said my name!_ That's so –  _oof!"_

  

___________________

 

Yuuri was very embarrassed.

 

One minute, he was pressed a little too snugly against a rather  _unfairly_ handsome man with blue eyes that would probably haunt his dreams for days to come, blushing crimson, and then it had all gone up in flames – literally, and all because of a sneeze.

 

Victor, however, was delighted.

 

He hadn't really registered that the man he was clutching like babe's stuffed toy was struggling frantically for release – he was too distracted at the moment, his mind moving a mile a minute. Finally, it was all real - the mage Yuuri was awake, he remembered, he was speaking,  _he said Victor's name._ Victor wouldn’t get to settle down in magi haven like he wanted, but at least now he had someone. At least he knew somebody else that could do what he could do. Victor couldn't remember the last time he had so much excited energy – he felt like he would explode any second.

 

Yuuri wrestled his face away from Victor's chest and turned his head to the side suddenly – finally embracing the hug, perhaps? – and then a burst of hot flame erupted right next to him, sending him reeling from the force. The next thing Victor knew he was on the ground, a few feet away from where he had been standing previously, and he was laying on top of the now tomato-red mage who looked like he wanted to melt right into the wooden floor.

" _Wow!_ Was that just from a sneeze?" Victor said, perching himself up by the elbows as he dangled over stuttering mage beneath him. "You're like a little dragon!"

"I - I - I'm so sorry, I don't know how that happened, I was j-just trying to push you off, and then I- " Yuuri rambled on, excuses and apologies pouring out of his mouth like a sorrowful waterfall. Victor looked down at him with a smile, taking in dark, silky hair, the adorable flush that crept up rounded cheeks, the deep, expressive chocolate eyes glittering up at him, and he was impressed. Victor was not easy to shock, and yet this little mage was full of surprises. Unknowingly, Yuuri had managed to perform two very powerful spells just days after his abilities were awakened. It had taken Victor years of careful practice and concentration to perform his element's equivalent of the first two spells Yuuri had produced entirely on accident. He would never have guessed this sweet, cherubic face was capable of such raw power. And yet, he had gotten the best of Victor with just a  _sneeze -_ it really was remarkable.  _And adorable,_ he thought. _I mean, a sneeze, really?_

Victor was startled from his thoughts by the sound of silence. Yuuri had evidently finished his rambling and was now looking up at Victor expectantly, his face turning a deeper and deeper shade of crimson with every second that ticked by.  
  
"Ah, I'm sorry, did you say something?"  
  
"Y-yes," Yuuri stuttered, averting his gaze. "Could you, maybe, um, get off of me?" he squeaked.

Victor got to his feet with a flourish, assembling his face into a blinding smile as he pulled the other mage to his feet but kept hold of his hands.

 

“That was very impressive! You clearly have some strong natural talent. I can’t wait to start teaching you!”

 

Yuuri back went rigid. He pulled his hands away as he took a few steps back. His demeanor had changed - eyes narrowed in calculation, lips pursed as he surveyed the silver-haired man in front of him.

 

“Teach me? Teach me  _what,_ exactly?”

 

Even his voicehad changed. Yuuri now sounded formal, almost commanding, voice implying appraisal. Victor subconsciously stood a little straighter, goosebumps prickling across his skin as he adjusted to the chameleon-like shift. He suddenly became very aware that he was clad only in a raggedy old inn robe but quickly shoved the insecurity away. After all, Yuuri wasn’t dressed much better. But something in the way he held himself, the way he spoke, the look in his eyes...Victor was quite sure there was more to the mage's story than that of an onsen innkeep.

 

Victor inhaled, collecting his thoughts so as to choose his words carefully. He hadn’t expected that he would have to convince this amateur mage to accept the help of an expert – but he wasn’t about to back down, either. “I've always wanted to meet another mage – excluding the Erehan healers, of course. A battle mage, like me. And now here you are.”

 

Yuuri quirked an eyebrow but said nothing, awaiting further explanation.

 

“You’re strong, but I’m sure you know you are completely out of control. You need help.”

 

“Yes, I do, but…we command different elements. How would you be helpful to me?” 

 

Victor shrugged. "I might not be. I've never trained anyone else before, but elemental magic is elemental magic. The fundamentals are probably the same, no?"

 

“I'm not sure,” Yuuri admitted. A flicker of doubt flashed across his face, the brazen demeanor evaporating again into to the doe-like meekness that Victor initially expected. Emboldened by the change, Victor crept forward until he was standing just a hair’s breadth away from the other man, tilting his chin up with his fingertips; their faces were close enough to breathe each other's air. 

"Try not to sneeze," Victor teased, smirking as the blush crept its way back into the other man’s cheeks. “Unless you have another mage up your sleeve, you don't have many choices, do you?”

 

“I don’t,” Yuuri breathed, transfixed. “But why would you want to train me? What’s in it for you?”

 

“Hm, would you believe it’s out of the goodness of my heart?”

 

“No,” Yuuri replied without hesitation. Victor chuckled as he backed away, hands raised in faux-surrender. Yuuri had surprised him again; he was sharper than Victor expected. Yuuri exhaled with relief at the space, the flush slowly fading from his face as he backed a _healthy distance_ away from the eccentric stranger.

 

“Alright, so maybe my motives aren’t completely selfless, but you don’t need to know what they are just yet.” Victor could admit that he was embarrassed to be offering himself to this man just because he was lonely. Yuuri was newly gifted; he didn’t understand what it was like to be the only one in the world who could bend elements at will. He would _never_ understand, and Victor was happy about that. But it was too soon in their relationship, whatever it was, to admit it.

 

“What we _do_ know,” Victor continued, talking over Yuuri’s protests at his dismissed motives, “ – is that you are a danger to yourself and to everyone around you as long as you’re powers aren’t kept in check.”

 

Yuuri didn’t respond to this, but the look he gave Victor was one that he knew he would be picking apart for days, trying to decipher the complexity of emotions that swam just behind his eyes. It was fear, and trust, and hope, and loneliness, and  _gods his eyes are expressive._

 

“You are fire, I am ice. I can keep you in check. You need me,” he said, his blue eyes staring into the complex abyss of brown as though pleadingwith them to accept, accept,  _accept._ “We can work out a training fee later, if you like,” he added with a wink.

 

The silence hung in the air as Victor waited expectantly for Yuuri’s answer and Yuuri gazed at Victor, expression incomprehensible. Victor felt like he was waiting for _ages._ He wanted to open up the other man’s head and crawl inside, read his thoughts like a book, become fluent in the indecipherable code that was the mysterious and surprising Yuuri. _Why is he hesitating? What is he thinking about? Was the fire and ice thing too corny_? _Maybe he_ –

 

“Okay,” Yuuri said simply, and he smiled. It was small, gentle, and genuine, and Victor felt his heart constrict just a little bit at the sight. Yuuri left the room and padded into the kitchen, humming as he prepared a pot of tea. Victor decided that Yuuri’s smile was quite beautiful, like the sun on a spring morning, and that he would very much like to see it again.

 

___________________

 

Yuuri felt safe.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER. THIS FREAKING CHAPTER. GUYS. I CAN'T.
> 
> This chapter did NOT want to be written. Every sentence felt like it was flipping me the bird. I cannot remember the last time a chapter gave me THIS much trouble, holy hell. 
> 
> So, I'm really sorry this is late and also possibly awful. It was a struggle of epic proportions and ultimately the chapter won because I refuse to even look at it anymore lol. 
> 
> Also want to note that since the holiday season is over I won't be able to post daily updates anymore since work has gotten busy again. I will try and update this as often as I can but unfortunately I can't commit to a schedule at the moment. I was thinking of making a tumblr or something for this account so I can keep y'all posted on chapter progress. Is that something you guys would be into? Let me know.
> 
> Thank you so so so much for reading! I appreciate your comments, kudos, and interest so much! <3


	6. Chapter 6

Yuuri very quickly realized that training with Victor was going to be very hard.

It wasn't really a problem that Victor demanded perfect physical condition from his student. Every morning before they even began their day, Yuuri had to go for an hour long run that left his lungs crushed. His meals were all very green, very healthy, and very unappetizing. Pleading with Yuuko and Minako for real food offered no success – Victor had cast a spell over them, too, and they were as committed to maintaining Yuuri’s regiment as Victor was.  But Yuuri had always adjusted to physical exertion well, and before he knew it the run, though miserable, became easy.

Distractions weren’t much of a problem, either – though not for lack of trying. Victor's travel companion, Christophe, always lurked on the edges of the make-shift practice grounds outside of the onsen. He would nestle himself against a tree with a leather journal in his lap, observing the practice and jotting down the occasional note, hemming and hawing and occasionally commenting. Yuuri tried not to feel self-conscious whenever he felt the man's hazel eyes studying him, knowing if he turned around the blonde would blow a kiss his way once he'd caught Yuuri's eye. Other times, Christophe would creep over to where the two mages were standing in between demonstrations and he would snake his arms around Yuuri, claiming he was chilly and needed to be warmed up and _no one else is as warm Yuuri, right, Victor?_ Yuuri always ignored that last part, but was thankful when Victor would shoo Christophe away so they could get back to work. Overall, Yuuri didn't really mind Christophe's presence. In fact, he'd grown fond of the man despite himself, finding that his playful flirtation brought about a welcome break of tension whenever Yuuri became particularly frustrated.

It wasn't _too_ much trouble that Yuuri and Victor were dancing a perpetual limbo of trust and wariness – which was frustratingly true. Yuuri, Minako, and Yuuko had decided that even though they were entrusting Victor with Yuuri’s training, it was much too soon to entrust him with the full truth of who Yuuri was. His motivations were still unknown, and they simply could not risk it yet. Ultimately, it would be Yuuri’s decision when to tell Victor (and, by extent, Christophe), if at all, and Yuuri couldn't make up his mind. He trusted Victor and even Christophe to an extent, gradually getting to know them over the past few weeks, but paranoia always creeped at the edge of his thoughts whenever he entertained telling them. This was complicated by how damn  _touchy_ the travelers were.

Physical affection had always put Yuuri on edge, but he had to become tolerant to it rather quickly if he had any hope of surviving in the company of Victor and Christophe. Victor in particular always managed to set Yuuri's senses haywire, and he couldn't stop himself from second-guessing every move the other man made. Victor would grab Yuuri’s palm to demonstrate something and then hold it a little too long; Yuuri wondered if Victor noticed his hands were too soft and uncalloused to belong to an innkeep. Victor would stand just a touch too close to Yuuri than he was used to; perhaps the distance was normal for Victor (though he'd never seen him stand so close to Christophe). Yuuri stillworried that Victor could smell some residue perfume from the bath oils he'd used back at the castle.And then there were the  _stares._ Victor was always looking at Yuuri, analyzing him, studying him, and Yuuri didn't quite know how to interpret the look in his eyes when he did so. On numerous occasions, Yuuri would catch Victor’s eyes lingering at the scars that traveled up his arm _–_ this Yuuri understood, because  _of course_ he would wonder about scars like that. But did he suspect they were scars born of dragonfire, burns incurable even by the best healers of Ereh?

But, Victor never openly questioned, seeming content to think and wonder about gods know what. So, no, that wasn’t the problem, yet.

The problem was that Yuuri had thus far proven to be a truly awful battle mage, and neither teacher nor student had any idea how to reconcile that. 

It had been about two weeks of "training," if you could call it that, and so far Yuuri had yet to purposefully conjure so much as a spark. All of his magic was born of surprise and accident – both to him and whatever poor soul happened to be audience to it. Minako was  _still_ glaring at him for singeing the ends of her hair when he'd choked on a particularly chewy stem of broccoli at dinner one night. Victor had been so excited at seeing  _something_ that he’d dragged Yuuri back outside to make him try to do it again but to no avail.

Yuuri thought that perhaps Victor was too advanced to really teach him. Each morning, after the ritualistic run and disappointing breakfast, Victor would bring Yuuri outside and demonstrate. He created shields of ice just by splaying his palm, gusts of freezing wind with a low whistle, spikes of icicles jut from the ground with a flick of his wrist. And then he would look at Yuuri, say, "Now your turn," and they would wait. Yuuri would scrunch up his face in concentration, holding his breath until he felt like he would pass out, but his flame equivalent of Victor's magic never came. Victor would look disappointed for just a moment, smile reassuringly and tell Yuuri that it was alright, and they would try something else, and the cycle would repeat.

But it  _wasn't_ alright. They had heard the rumors of the Ordeyhri magehunt, felt the friction in the air when the rare traveler passed by the inn without entering – it was dangerous and he needed to be prepared. But he couldn't be prepared if he  _was_ the danger.  A volatile fire mage with no control would do more harm to them than good. He knew by now that Celestino had likely reached Phichit in Nerinouph. It wouldn’t be long before Yuuri had to follow him there, but he knew he would never make it to Nerinouph without detection if he was perpetually on the verge of catching fire.

Worse still, Yuuri could feel Victor’s frustration. Yuuri tried to keep his relationship with Victor as professional as it could be, attempting to draw as clear a line in the sand as Victor was capable of obeying, but Yuuri had grown fond of the man despite himself. Victor was patient, kind, pushy when he needed to be, and encouraging – not to mention he was likely the only person who could really combat Yuuri’s power if he got out of control. Yuuri felt comfortable practicing his magic  _because_ of Victor there, safe in the knowledge that Victor could take care of whatever damage Yuuri afflicted with his own ice magic. Victor kept things under control, he helped Yuuri focus, he reminded Yuuri that magic was a gift and that it could be a tool rather than a curse. And Yuuri was disappointing him, he knew. But if he lost Victor…well, that was just one more motivation for Yuuri put his all into his training.

Yuuri couldn't lose Victor. He didn't _want_ to lose Victor. Not yet, at least. He still had so much to learn from him, after all. After that, Yuuri would knew he would have no choice but to let him go - a talented ice mage could only train an amateur fire mage for so long. But he had him, for now, and that was itself a small comfort. 

 

__________________

 

“This isn’t working.”

Yuuri was currently sitting on the ground cross-legged, his hands digging into the grass on either side of him, staring intently at an old candle Minako had ferreted out at Victor’s request. After two weeks without success, Victor had since given up on Yuuri replicating his more complex spells, much to the protest of his protege. He decided to settle for what he imaged would be the basics for a fire mage, just a small spark to light a candlewick. Victor was left at an impasse: as an ice mage, he had no spell equivalent to lighting a candle, but as Yuuri's tutor he was obligated to give advice to the struggling mage. He had been prompting Yuuri to pursue various forms of meditation and concentration to “find his inner fire,” a phrase that earned him a roll of the eyes from his student (which pleased Victor, since it meant Yuuri was getting comfortable with him) and a teasing giggle from their newest audience member, Yuuko, who had taken to joining Christophe for their daily "show."

And so there they were, Yuuri sitting on the ground for the past two hours in quiet meditation as day gave way to twilight, intermittently switching from practicing breathing exercises to sulkily glaring at an old wax candle. Victor sat beside him, humming a tune as he waited or idly tending to his nails. Yuuko had long since abandoned them, muttering that even sweeping the inn was more interesting. Christophe was dozing off in tree not far away - a bad omen, if even Christophe Giacometti was losing interest.

Victor sighed and managed a small smile at his frustrated student. “It’s alright, we’ll try something el – “

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” Yuuri groaned. Victor cocked his head questioningly and Yuuri’s flushed as he realized what he’d said. “Ah – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just – you always say that when I can’t do something. So…so you’ve said every day this week so far.”

“Sorry, sorry, creature of habit! I’ll never say it again,” Victor chuckled, and he was delighted to see that even Yuuri had managed a small smile. 

Silently, Victor agreed with him. He knew that this – whatever it was, “training” or "trial and error" or “ongoing disaster” – wasn’t working. No matter how many times he tried to demonstrate for Yuuri, he simply couldn’t replicate the spells Victor was casting. Victor wished he could explain to Yuuri exactly what was going on inside of him, but ice had always come naturally to him. How can you explain something natural to someone who has never experienced it before? It would be like explaining to a fish how to breathe on land. The candle was meant to simplify things, but if anything it made it even harder for Victor to attempt to coax a willing flame out Yuuri - flame was as unnatural to him as it was to Yuuri.

Victor felt like a failure – and this was a wholly new emotion to him. He had only wanted to help Yuuri, but Yuuri looked more dejected than ever as his worried eyes fixed themselves on the ground in front of him. Victor felt that increasingly-familiar sense of distress when he could practically  _see_ the negativity crawling into Yuuri's mind; he scrambled to shut it down before it settled there.

“Okay, so maybe we’re going about this wrong,” Victor tried, sitting himself across from Yuuri as he mimicked the other man’s position. Their knees were just touching, the candle situated in the small gap between their legs. Victor placed his elbows on his knees and hunched over, glaring at the candle. He saw the faintest twitch of amusement in Yuuri's face as he mirrored Victor’s position, each of them now glaring at their shared enemy of wax and string.  _At least he’s not sad anymore_ , Victor thought triumphantly. At least he hadn’t failed at that.

“Yuuri, when you try to cast a spell, what are you thinking?” Victor’s eyes trailed up to the other man, but Yuuri’s attention stayed fixated on the wick.

“Well, I – I’ve read books, on spellcasting. A traveler left them here, so I, um, read them," he stuttured, before hastily adding, "But they're gone now! We sold them!”

 _He’s nervous,_ Victor thought, and he surprised himself at how attuned he was becoming to Yuuri’s mannerisms. Yuuri always got like this when he talked about his past – and for good reason, since Victor knew he was hiding something. What little Yuuri  did share, none of it really made sense.  _Why would a traveler leave_ multiple  _valuable spellcasting books at an inn and not return to retrieve them? How were you able to comprehend the materials enough to practice them here? If you sold them, why is the inn still struggling for money when just one of those books would make you as rich as a king?_ Victor always stamped away his prying impulses, adding habitually to the ever-growing list of  questions he had about Yuuri. One day, they could talk about it. But they weren't there yet. Instead, he asked, “And what did those books tell you?”  

Yuuri sighed as he rubbed his eyes, exhaustion and exasperation evident. Victor wondered if he was working him too hard, but he knew that Yuuri would never allow him to ease up - he was nothing if not determined. “You…you focus on the person, or object, or task. And then you try and pull the energy from around you, focusing back on the object, until…whatever you want to happen, happens.” 

 _Better wake up, Chris, we’re about to have an epiphany,_ Victor thought, a smile of understanding exploding across his face as his pupil observed at him questioningly.

“You’re describing healing magic,” Victor explained delicately. Victor held up a finger to silence Yuuri’s question, continuing in his best lecture voice. “Healing magic is very different from battle magic, Yuuri. Restoration comes from the outside – from nature, the energy you pull from the air. Elemental magic…that comes from in here,” he said as he tapped the other man’s chest.

Yuuri’s eyes widened, evidently shocked as he lifted his own hand to his chest where Victor had tapped, as though he could suddenly feel the well of magic there. Victor supposed it made sense – Yuuri must have lived on the outskirts of Ereh all his life. He likely didn’t know of any magic besides healing magic – elemental mages were practically nonexistent as it was, and the nature of their spells were quite mysterious. Few people knew how much the two schools of magic differed.

“Is that what you’ve been doing all this time? Trying to pull fire out of thin air?” Victor teased.

“I…yeah,” Yuuri said bashfully. Something glittered in his eyes – comprehension, maybe – and Victor could  _feel_  that something was different. A buzzing, warm energy filled the air, centering around Yuuri. 

“Do you want to try again?” Victor's heart beat in his chest just a little faster, excitement bubbling inside.

Yuuri grinned at him, his eyes slowly snaking down to the candle and then back up to Victor, expectant. Victor didn't need to look, not really; he knew. He didn't want to look away from the grinning man in front of him who so recently had looked so sad. But who could say no to that face?

He let his eyes flick down, settling on the now lit little candle in front of him and he couldn't keep down the joyous squeal from leaving his throat.

Yuuri submitted to the inevitable hug from Victor (Victor could swear he even returned it a little, though Chris later dismissed his thought as wishful thinking), he tolerated the second hug and light groping from a freshly-woken Christophe, enthusiastically accepted the celebratory dinner of  _real food_ from Minako that Victor permitted him to have "just for tonight", and happily demonstrated his new trick with every candle they could find at the old inn. Victor had never seen the mage so full of life, talking excitedly to Yuuko and Minako with eyes alight as he explained the cause of their three-week-long hiccup. He was unspeakably happy that he had a part inthis change, both on the superficial and incorporeal levels. He could see as well as sense the shift in the other mage, the innate understanding of his own magic growing as the revelation settled. It would be easier from here on, Victor knew. Tomorrow, they would move on from candles.  
  
_Now the fun really begins,_ Victor thought. He'd never been so excited for tomorrow.

__________________

 

“Yakov.”

The old man was seated at a disaster of a desk, every inch covered in books and papers and hastily-scrawled notes. He was hunched over a particularly ancient tome, dusk still clinging to the leather-bound cover where Yakov hadn't brushed it off yet. Slowly, he shut the book, flecks of dust flittering in the air where the light caught them, and looked up with bleary eyes at the blonde wisp of a man standing in the doorway.

“Ah, Yuratchka, I was wondering when I’d see you."

Yuri crinkled his nose at the nickname but did not comment on it. “You’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you, old man?”

“Of course I have. Phichit and Jean-Jacques were never the secretive types.” With a grown, Yakov hoisted himself from his chair and walked behind Yuri to shut the door. Yakov lifted a large pile of aging books to reveal a small wooden chair and dragged it over toward his desk, gesturing for Yuri to sit.

Yuri settled himself on the creaking chair stiffly as Yakov dropped himself into the cushioned armchair at the head of his desk. He hated when they did this: the guest seated in the uncomfortable, low seated furniture and the host seated just slightly higher above in eased comfort, the barrier taking the form of the sloppy desk between them on this occasion - all meant to make the visitor feel out of place and subservient. But, it was part of the game, and Yuri prided himself on feeling "in place"  _anywhere._ He knew better than to be upset with Yakov about it; it was likely a force of habit after all this time. Yakov's tricks never could work on Yuri – that was part of why he grew so close to him to begin with. It was self-sustaining: it was most unwise to be on the bad side of a man impervious to control and who had hardly anything to lose.

“Do you think they mean for war?”

“You never were one for pleasantries, Yuri," Yakov chuckled. "It is possible. JJ has inherited his father's hot-head, and none of the LeRoys ever really liked the idea being second to Ordeyhr in power. King Phichit has something to prove, too – it was his family, after all. It might be a wasted opportunity if he didn't act.”

 "But we're not sure yet?"

"Whispers can be as good as words, sometimes. Do you remember your lessons about the Battle of Lowngoon Bay?"

"I know all this, Yakov. Will you stop with the fucking lecture and get to the point?"

"Just because we are not in court doesn't mean we don't have listeners, Yuratchka," Yakov warned. Yuri sucked his teeth but remained silent as Yakov continued. "The Battle of Lowngoon Bay. Ordeyhr was at war with Lowngoon and, like Ereh, burned the city to ash and killed all of the survivors. Why did we not go to war with the rest of the realm?"

"Because there were no survivors," Yuri answered, rolling his eyes as he recalled their lessons. "There's no reason to rise to the defense of a kingdom that doesn't exist anymore when your own citizens' lives are at risk."

"Nice to see some of what I taught you actually sunk in," Yakov smiled. "And then the nations appease. They make us promise 'never to do it again', which we do, and then life returns to normal because the other nations want to avoid conflict."

"Right, yes, the appeasement policy, _whatever_."

Yakov nodded. "But this time, something is different. The nations aren't looking to appease. Why do you think that is?"

"Because the opportunity cost of appeasement outweighs the actual cost, I suppose. There's a greater benefit to war. But what would that benefit be?"

Yakov sighed, running his wrinkly hand through his thinning hair as he settled back in his chair. "I have theories, no concrete facts yet. The benefit would obviously be eliminating Ordeyhr – of that I'm certain, and the realm has lusted after it for decades. I suspect the drive behind their mobility is –"

“Someone survived,” Yuri finished for him. "Someone important." Yakov nodded again, face grim. “Does the king know?”

Yakov frowned, rubbing his fingers against his temples to ease the growing migraine. He really was too old to live through another war. “Not yet. You know how the king is – passionate, no strategy to speak of. We need to be sure before we tell him anything.”

“So what will we do?” 

“If we find the survivor, we might be able to nip this in the bud before it spills over to war – keep them as hostage and leverage peace in the realm as collateral, or just kill them and end it the way we meant to the first time. If they make it to the court of JJ in Nestor or Phichit in Nerinouph, there likely isn’t anything we can do to avoid war."

"But if they haven’t declared, the survivor must still be out there. Which means we have a chance."

"A small one, yes, but a chance."

“I wonder which of those Katsuki pigs made it out alive.”

Yakov tutted at Yuri, displeased. “Say what you will about their politics, Yuri, but they were good people. Excellent healers, all of them. I was sad they had to go.”

Yuri had stopped talking, eyes distant, and Yakov knew the young man well enough by now to know that he should keep silent. The boy had grown into a fine politician, if a little rough around the edges in private. He was a dream in court, though – subtle manipulation and practiced shadows trickling from him like perfume. The boy was an impenetrable fortress of coercion who knew enough secrets to take down a nation with a whisper – Ereh was ashen proof of that. But he had one weakness: Prince Otabek, and that had mostly proven to be not much of a weakness in court at all. Yuri would sooner skin a man alive than allow anyone to imply a threat to the stoic prince, even in jest, and so the politicians rarely tried. But the pair brought out both the best and the worst in each other; Yakov always thought their bond would be their own undoing somehow.

"Yakov," Yuri called, snapping the elder man out of his reverie. "I have a plan."

Yakov noted the nebulous look in the younger man's eyes, the firm set of his delicate jaw, and he knew his job was only to listen, the reveal of the plan only a courtesy. Yuri would set it into motion regardless of Yakov's thoughts.

"The Katsukis were all healers," Yuri explained, brow furrowed in concentration. "If there were no other survivors, or even if there were a  _few_ , the population of magic-users would have drastically decreased."

"I see. So if we round up the remaining mages, we'll find the lost royal."

"And we'll win the war before its even started."

Yakov nodded; it was a good plan, but one they already had in motion. "We've had foot soldiers out tracking mages since the attack two months ago and I always have my people keep an ear out for whispers. But, whispers only go so far. How do you intend to find them if they lead to nowhere and our scouts turn up empty-handed?"

Yakov could see the answer in the other man’s eyes before he even finished speaking. He wanted to scream, deny, throw the man out of the window – it wasn’t, _couldn’t_ be an option, he would not allow it. His hands were shaking with quiet rage as he observed the youth, but Yakov’s time in court has shown him that it was always better to hear the words before performing the action.

"Don’t play dumb. I know you know what I’m suggesting. The wyrm will have reached maturity by now, yes?” Yakov grunted his assent and Yuri nodded. Tracking down the wyrmling had been the greatest achievement of Yakov’s life. He had devoted the last ten years of his life to raising her and she was likely the last of her kind left. He would never have another chance and the _brat_ wanted to send her away on what could very well be a wild goose chase?

"I'll let Georgi know," Yuri said, already turning away, but he stopped, startled, when Yakov abruptly slammed his hands down on his desk.

"You _can’t._ She is too young, she's not _violent_ , you have _no right,_ and we don't even – "

"Do you have a better plan, Yakov?" Yuri growled. "Dragons are the only creatures that can track mages. They're  _drawn_ to their spells. _And we have a dragon_ ; it's the quickest way.""

"She's not violent, Yuri," Yakov tried again, though he knew his words were pointless even as he said them. 

"But Georgi _is._ She just needs to find them, Yakov. The Katsuki doesn't know we have her so they're not going to bother being careful with their magic. Then Georgi will take care of the rest. Or should I bring it up to king and see what _he_ thinks we should do?"

“And if we lose her?” Yakov was whispering now, conceding defeat. He knew he couldn’t argue further – and it was in everyone’s best interest if the king was kept in the dark about the coming war, half-mad as he was. Yuri had won this battle of wits.

“If it’s between the beast’s life and the Altins’, I know where my loyalty lies,” Yuri shrugged. “It’s kind of fitting, don’t you think? Sending the last dragon to hunt out the last mage, a battle of extinction. It’s like a _fairytale_ , eh?” Yuri teased as he shut the door behind him.

Yakov let out a muffled scream into his hands, frustration building and his migraine pounding even harder. _The little shit._ Yakov was loyal to his king, to the Altin house, but this was his _life’s work._

If the dragon was lost, Yakov would follow; he had nothing else to live for anymore. But he would take Prince Otabek with him – _an eye for an eye, a life for a life._ He would make sure _Yuratchka’s_ last lesson was one he would remember forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back with a new chapter! This is a little longer than usual to make up for the wait. I really hope you guys like where I went with this! Please let me know what you think!
> 
> Thank you all so much for all of your lovely comments and kudos on the previous chapters. I am overwhelmed by the positive response I've received from this and I can't thank you enough for taking the time to read! <3
> 
> P.S. I did end up making a [tumblr](http://www.elodim.tumblr.com) for this account if you guys want to shoot a question or something over (though I'm more than happy to talk in the comments here, too!) and I'll try and update there whenever I post a new chapter.
> 
> P.P.S. I genuinely do like Yakov. But he's not close to Yuri in this AU, so that fatherly instinct isn't there. But he is every bit as invested in his work here as he is in the show, which I hope will explain the rather intense reaction. I guess imagine the dragon was one of his skaters in the show and hopefully that will make sense and its not too terribly OOC? I know everyone is a little more negative here than they are in the show, but I hope you guys don't mind too much!


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